


nothing of him that doth fade

by arianrhod



Category: The Heroes of Olympus - Rick Riordan
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-21
Updated: 2011-02-21
Packaged: 2017-10-15 20:18:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/164578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arianrhod/pseuds/arianrhod
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Perseus becomes a Roman.</p>
            </blockquote>





	nothing of him that doth fade

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tvconnoisseur](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tvconnoisseur/gifts).



> Full fathom five thy father lies;  
> of his bones are coral made;  
> Those are pearls that were his eyes:  
> Nothing of him that doth fade  
> But doth suffer a sea-change  
> Into something rich and strange.
> 
> - _The Tempest_ , William Shakespeare, I.ii

“Duck, idiot!”

Percy was lunging at the Gorgon on the left, tracking her movements by the reflection in his gladius, when a voice rang out over the hissing of snakes and general demigods-at-war cacophony. He didn’t think he had time to add ducking to his immediate to-do list, but luckily the legionnaire right behind him--Dakota, maybe, but her face was hidden behind a shining helm--swung wide with the butt of her lance and tripped him.

It was difficult to be thankful for her help while face down in a pile of churned-up mud, but Percy gave it his best shot when a flurry of nearby clicking noises indicated that he’d missed out on the joy of about fifteen snake bites to the face plus a permanent reassignment to the job of battlefield statue.

By the time Percy finished contemplating all this and had switched from face-in-mud to butt-in-mud, Dakota was still only just stepping up into Percy’s place in the ranks. It was really nice how ADD made so much more sense during a fight with evil monsters straight out of his childhood nightmares.

Only Percy couldn’t remember his childhood.

And you think too much, idiot, Percy thought to himself with frustration as he scrambled messily to his feet, focusing on Dakota as she turned her lance on Enemy Gorgon #1. Only two days ago Percy and his century had practiced anti-Gorgon techniques--engage your enemy in reflection, track your enemy based on the pattern and trajectory of the soldiers already engaged, Percy’s memory supplied by rote. Unfortunately, his memory also brought up the ten other embarrassing things that he’d done wrong during training (forgetting where he was supposed to be, stepping backwards onto Dakota’s foot four or five times, losing his gladius during formation drills) and the obligatory punishment that ensued.

Frankly, it was surprising they let Percy fight with his century today, but the camp had been spread thin by the unexpected number of Gorgons that suddenly popped up on the Golden Gate Bridge like some sort of awful amphibious tour group. The first century and its auxiliaries went after the demigod baby who was apparently riding in a car across the Bridge at that very moment, and the second century with Percy in tow was tasked to Gorgon-management duty.

“We put you new guys in front so that when you embarrass us, it’s over faster,” Dakota had told him, with a grin so wolfish Percy would have thought Lupa her mother instead of Janus.

But of course, she’d been right. Which was why Percy was reminiscing with his backside in a mud hole while Dakota worked on smiting the ugly beast with all the power bestowed on her by the god of doorways and time or whatever.

Once again, the action had barely progressed by the time Percy made it to his feet and located his gladius again (ten feet away between Dakota and Gorgon, great). This would have been fine, since this fight was clearly all Dakota anyway, but if there was one thing Percy had learned in the two months he remembered being a demigod--it had to be more than that--there was always one more monster than you could handle.

The second Gorgon popped up right as Dakota threw her lance at the first and missed, dropping her shield as she tucked and rolled, weaponless but farther from danger. Percy’s only weapon was now keeping Dakota’s lance company next to the multiplying Gorgons. Maybe being a statue wouldn’t be that bad, Percy thought bleakly. Less training, I bet.

But suddenly, there was a third option. The harsh sunlight glinting of the water of the Bay had been distracting Percy all morning, which he had chalked up to ADD, the gift that kept on distracting. But now Percy realized it wasn’t the light, it was the water. The Roman legion camp was miles inland. He hadn’t seen the ocean, hadn’t smelled salt water since... well, since he couldn’t remember how long, but it was important. All that water out there, it felt vast and mighty, made Percy himself feel strong with the solid weight of a lifelong friend at his back.

Abandoning thought for the first time, Percy let the sense of the ocean rise up in his stomach, drowning the immediate fear of his and Dakota’s future as statues and the constant, drumming anxiety over the emptiness of his memory. Right away Percy felt like he would be crushed by the pressure of the deep but--like he’d done it before--he reached out with one hand and, the Bay rising up from beneath the bridge at his command to crush the Gorgons to dust instead, claimed his birthright.

“I am the son of Poseidon!” Percy roared as the water thundered around him on its way back to the Bay. It felt good, the first good thing in two months.

Dakota looked up at him stunned from where she sat, hair damp and trailing bits of kelp, in a mud hole. “You mean Neptune,” she said dryly.

***

“Well, most demigods do get claimed after their first battle. It’s usually not quite so dramatic, though,” Reyna said with a distracted smile.

“I don’t think your father claimed you so much as you claimed him. Rather dramatic either way.” Bobby said with more humor from where he was crouched in front of the consuls’ pavilion, messing around with what looked like a pile of Pick Up Stix. “The auspices didn’t forewarn us about you, but then this isn’t the first time you’ve been unpredictable.”

Bobby still had a pleasant look on his face as he stared down at the Stix he had just scattered at random in the dirt. Percy had been present at many readings of the auspices, it seemed like no one could eat lunch let alone go to battle without finding some secret pattern in birds flying overhead or leftover crumbs of cereal at the bottom of a bowl. Probably only the two consuls of the Roman camp had the authority to read auspices in the pieces of a kids’ game.

Reyna stayed silent as Bobby contemplated his reading. She was standing at attention and studying Percy with the air of someone who’d rather get rid of a potential problem than let it fester. Percy shifted nervously.

“So you still don’t remember anything,” she said finally. It didn’t sound like a question, but the silence after her sentence stretched ominously.

“Well, nothing before Lupa’s judgment.” Percy said, quieter than he meant to. He was a legionnaire! Even if he was new, he had just proven himself in battle. That meant something in camp. He should be looking at a promotion in the ranks, not to mention a new pavilion in the proper colors and position for a son of Neptune. His father wasn’t Juno, Mars, or Quirinus so he would not be in one of the grand pavilions around the center square, but he definitely shouldn’t be living with the non-combatant auxiliaries by the cook tents, laundry and latrines.

Percy was still new to all of this, even after a few months of non-stop teaching and training; it was as if something in him rejected this knowledge, rejected the structure and rituals of the Roman camp. But how could that be, if he was half-Roman, the son of Neptune? Maybe if he lived in Neptune’s tent, the divine image of his father outside the door, sitting in the seat of honor at Neptunalia, he would finally feel like he belonged here.

Reyna was still looking at him as if she could see these thoughts flickering across his face. “So am I in some sort of trouble?” Percy asked at last. Dakota had hauled him to the consuls before they’d even discovered if the rest of the second century was still fighting or completely turned to statues. While Percy had waited for Reyna and Bobby to return from the first century’s rescue mission, Dakota had refused to even say a word to him. Wasn’t being claimed by your godly parent a good thing? Plus he’d saved everyone’s butts out there.

“You are a problem, Percy.” Reyna declared, relaxing to a parade rest stance, then giving up and pacing up and down the entrance to the tent behind Bobby.

Percy thought it best not to fill the silence after that statement at all.

“No demigod has even just appeared at the entrance to the Roman camp for judgment. Every camper has been brought here by the martial might of our legionnaires--”

“Except Jason,” Bobby interrupted, still crouched over the auspices.

“Don’t you dare interrupt me again, Bobby.” Reyna said, voice low and dangerous. She didn’t turn to look at him, though, instead glaring even more fiercely at Percy. “Despite the fact that you are the oldest demigod to survive outside of the legion, Lupa did not kill you at the Wolf House, so you were taken in and trained. Somehow you remained unclaimed and nearly untrainable, again despite the perseverance of our finest warriors and punishment that would straighten out the most stubborn son of Mars.”

Percy winced at those memories. How many times had he been deprived of meals and sleep, been given hour upon hour of extra sparring, been forced to hold his shield above his head outside the main gate? The agony and shame weren’t as dulled by time and accomplishment as he would have hoped.

“You shall be raised from centurion of Second Century to legatus. Prove yourself and by midsummer you shall be praetor of the First Legion.” Percy was so startled by Bobby’s interjection in the face of Reyna’s tirade that he barely understood what he had heard. Legatus? Praetor? They were words he knew, people he knew; Dakota was currently legatus of the Second. Mostly it seemed that she went to war council more often and had to to do “interpreting birds” thing before they rode off to battle. Percy couldn’t even raise his shield without hitting the centurion next to him in the nose.

“Are you--” Percy hadn’t decided whether to say “sure” or “crazy” yet when he was drowned out by a loud, incoherent shout from Reyna and suddenly she had Bobby by the collar, scattering Pick Up Stix everywhere as she lifted him onto his toes.

“ _Do not presume, son of Quirinus! You may sit in his chair but you do not rule in his place._ ” Reyna’s voice was gruff and choked with rage and the raw emotions on his face made Percy wish that his dad were the god of invisibility.

Bobby took it in stride. “Jason’s gone, Reyna. By rights I have the next most seniority in camp. As it is a time of peace, my orders supercede yours in military matters.” He said calmly, even though Reyna had practically pulled his purple shirt over his head by this point.

Her grip slackened only slightly at these words. “Jason’s gone, Reyna,” he said again, one of his hand’s coming up to rest gently on her shoulder. “I must do what is right for the camp. Percy is a prodigy but I judge that he was not sent by the gods for our punishment.”

Reyna dropped Bobby fully down to the ground. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled, looking down. “I just can’t believe we lost him. What price do we have to pay to get him back?” She sounded more miserable than Percy had ever heard before. They were the same age as he was, sure, but Percy had always viewed the consuls as nearly gods themselves, the untouchable rulers of all aspects of camp life, not scared or vulnerable teenagers.

“Maybe this is the price,” Bobby said softly.

A few more awkward moments passed before Reyna had gathered herself enough to turn back to Percy. She had locked away all traces of emotion, again looking harsh and unmovable. “Fine. By the order of Bobby, consul to demigods, Percy shall be legatus of the Second Century, with all rights and responsibilities therein. He shall be moved immediately to the pavilion of his father and given a place in the fourth ranks of the First Legion.” It looked like it hurt her a little to say these words.

“You know too much and too little, son of Neptune,” Reyna said, looking more curious than serious for once. “We’ll see what kind of leader that makes you at the council tomorrow. Make sure you’re there.”

That night Percy lay awake, staring up at the rippling blue-green silk that made him feel like he were miles out at sea, staring up at the sun through its rippling surface. He carefully poked at the vast nothingness in his memory before he was kneeling in the dirt before a monstrous she-wolf. Still his mind was blank and empty, no sense of familiarity even as he scattered water and made his public evening prayers in front of Neptune’s image. “Who am I?” he asked the implacable, hard-eyed face of the sea god.

“Where did I come from?” he asked now. The night wind continued to rustle through the tent and did not answer.

***

“To the victorious legion!”

“Hail!” The First Legion bellowed back to him.

“To the honor of the fallen!”

“Hail!”

Percy paused to take a long drink of water, washing the remnants of wind demons fighting in a desert down from his scratchy throat. He took a deep breath to continue the salute, but Bobby, still clad in his dust covered breast plate, sandals caked in sand, stood and raised his own goblet of water.

“To the new praetor of the First!”

This time, the Legion’s _hail_ was lost in a deafening roar of approval, and Percy found himself lifted off his feet and borne frighteningly high in the air on Dakota’s shield. He looked down at her in surprise, and she grinned at him with the semi-crazed elation of a successful battle. She had been at his back grudgingly when he had become legatus of the Second, herself promoted to legatus of the first century. Grudging had slowly turned to respect when it became clear that indeed, Percy knew very little about most aspects of camp life but somehow he wielded immense power as if he had known it his whole life and fought in battles as if he had seen more than he could account for. Now they celebrated each victory together, especially this one where Percy had drawn water up from the deep below the dry desert and used it to crush the field of wind demons in one blow.

He was told it had been impressive; he’d fainted before the dust had time to settle.

Even now he was feeling a little ill, but that could be because the other demigods insisted on passing the shield among them, everyone anxious to hoist their new praetor aloft on his seat of Imperial gold. The world drifted queasily as he bobbed from group to group until at last they set him on his feet in front of Bobby. Bobby clapped him staggeringly on the shoulder and raised his goblet again for silence.

“Truly was he mighty in battle today. Truly has he earned his lance and shield, truly does he wield the gladius of Rome.” The shouting would have started again at this, but Bobby raised his glass and pressed on. “Truly will he continue to honor us and lead us. Today I step down as interim consul, and the next elected from among us is Percy Jackson!”

The stamping and yelling obliterated all of Percy’s emotions except mounting nausea and utter astonishment. It was a good think he was still in his armor because the congratulatory claps were raining down thunderously on his back. Percy didn’t have the energy for anything but wondering how he was elected. He remember voting for something, maybe, a few weeks back, but he was pretty sure he’d just written down Bobby’s name and moved on.

Didn’t they all need a good night’s sleep or something? Percy was still unaccustomed to party-until-dawn celebration of victory, though he was probably even more unaccustomed to the number and scale of battles they fought, despite his ability to lead them. Wouldn’t it just be easier if a few of the most powerful demigods fought as a small, swift strike team?

Percy didn’t have the time to voice his opinions because Reyna had shoved her way to Percy’s side and was tugging on his hand, drawing him towards a bench and shoving him down. Without feeling, Percy pulled the armor off his torso as Rayna pulled off his gauntlets. Soon Percy was just in his armored leggings, sandals, and purple camp shirt, like a regular camper from the waist up and a crazy Roman soldier--which he maybe was--from the hips down. He would have started laughing but the world was still tipping and spinning dangerously, and Percy didn’t think throwing up on Reyna would help their relationship any. Things had gotten better when Percy realized her boyfriend had disappeared and Percy had usurped every role the dude Jason had ever had, but things could still be rocky now and then.

Reyna did have on a familiar grim look as she took Percy’s left wrist in both her hands and held it firmly down on the table. Other demigods, friends he could kind of recognize in a tilting-and-spinning sort of way, grabbed his other arm, shoulders, knees, feet, and finally Percy realized what was about to happen. He was rightfully elected consul, not interim consul; he needed a tattoo.

 _SPQR... Senate something something_ , Percy thought blearily. He’d never had a head for Latin like every other camper here. When they spoke Latin, Percy pretended to be distracted by something else and miss the conversation so someone would have to repeat it back to him, usually in English. He felt so clever. He opened his mouth to tell someone about it, but Reyna shushed him. In fact, a solemn silence seemed to have hushed all the demigods.

Percy shifted a bit because he didn’t like being held down and he really didn’t like the thought of getting a tattoo with Latin he couldn’t even remember let alone pronounce on it. It was Pathi doing the tattoo--she was lining up her inks and needle next to Percy’s arm--so at least it would look nice. Pathi was nice. Pain was not nice. Percy was feeling more than ill now.

Percy was braced for the first stabs of the needle, so they didn’t hurt as much as he thought they would, but by the time Pathi had finished the four letters and was framing the eagle, Percy was worried he really was going to vomit on Reyna, relationship or not. Come to think of it, the silence of the camp had been swallowed by the roaring in his ears and the world was graying out at the edges.

Percy couldn’t be sure when it started, but the pain of Pathi placing the tattoo in his skin was becoming secondary to the pulsing pain of the tattoo itself. It itched and burned, red-hot fire creeping up his arm. He squirmed weakly against the hands holding him down. If he could just get her to stop--

“Percy, stop moving,” Reyna commanded as she pulled at his wrist a little to get his attention.

“Something’s wrong,” Percy moaned, trying to get his arm away from her. The fire had reached his shoulder and was spreading through his chest, making his heart race and his lungs strain for air. “Please... don’t.” Reyna gave him a bewildered look and then exchanged a nervous glance with Pathi. Maybe they were used to soldiers taking this with stoicism; Percy couldn’t imagine how they managed it.

Pathi was almost done with the tattoo when Percy could no longer contain himself. It felt like every nerve in his body was burning up and his arm was white-hot with pain. Percy reached out frantically for any water and the campers around him gasped as their drinking water slopped out of their cups at Percy; he wasn’t strong enough to do more than bring it trickling a few inches closer to himself.

The pain became unbearable when the last mark of the tattoo was made. Percy was gasping in pain and fear, and everyone was clearly aware something was not right.

“Percy, Percy, what’s wrong?” It was Dakota’s voice, very far away. Percy opened his mouth to talk, to curse, to scream, and maybe he did all three but the only thing he knew was that darkness quickly claimed him.

***

When Annabeth finally found Percy after months of anxiety and months of disappointment, she had hoped it would be under the best possible conditions. Despite all that Jason had said, Percy was tough and resourceful and as good as a Roman camper any day, right? He’d fought the Titans, surely he could handle a bunch of battle-hugnry campers.

Thalia stayed with Annabeth while Leo and Piper followed Jason into the consuls tent. Ever since they stepped off the deck of Leo’s ship, Jason was greeted with enthusiasm and awe; Annabeth was sure the campers were friends, but there was more deference and respect given to Jason as their leader than any Greek demigod had ever paid to Percy or Annabeth. Unsettled, the older Greek campers hung back.

There was a lot of shouting and squealing from within the pavilion. Annabeth couldn’t stop looking around the camp, eyes skipping from campers to tents, to the sky, to the woods that surrounded them. Everything was so different from the Greek camp; this camp spoke of order and war.

Percy was here somewhere. Annabeth was so excited and scared she could hardly breathe. It took all of her energy and Thalia’s hand on her arm just to stay put and not going charging off to find Percy herself, futile though it might be to find her boyfriend without any help in the sprawling enemy-- _not enemies, remember that, not enemies_ \--camp.

Jason came out, face hard with anger. Piper and another girl with a tattoo to match Jason’s came out right behind him, both looking somehow upset and excited. Leo, face unreadable, came last. “He’s here,” Jason told Annabeth shortly and then he stormed off towards the southern edge of camp. Annabeth and Thalia raced to keep up.

Their strange group attracted the attention of almost every Roman demigod in camp. By the time they did reach the edge of the camp, demigods surrounded them, attempting to loiter and look inconspicuous while still following them. “Don’t you have training to do?” Reyna finally snapped at them, which caused one or two demigods to duck into nearby pavilions.

Jason stopped abruptly in front of a small white tent, so far from the other pavilions it didn’t seem like part of the encampment at all. There wasn’t going to be much room for all of them plus Percy (oh gods, Percy) inside, but it didn’t look like any of them were ready to sit this one out.

Jason opened his mouth to say something to her, but Annabeth pushed roughly past him. “Percy?” she called as she pulled back the tent flap, her voice wavering more than she would have liked.

At first, shock prevented her from understanding what she saw. There was nothing in the tent besides Percy; she couldn’t see his face because his head was pitched forward but she knew it was him. She fell to her knees next to where he sat on the ground, arms tied behind him around the center pole of the tent. His eyes were closed, his mouth hung open.

“Percy?” she whispered quietly, unwanted tears stinging her eyes. He heard her this time, though, opening his eyes slowly and turning his head towards her. He didn’t look all there, but there was definitely a flicker of recognition in his eyes. She was sure of it. Jason had counseled her--it might be some time before Percy got his memories back-- in hopes that Annabeth was not too upset when her boyfriend, you know, didn’t remember her face.

“Release him _now_ ,” Jason commanded, and apparently his word still carried a lot a weight around here. Reyna quickly knelt on Percy’s other side, slicing through the ropes with a golden knife. Percy slumped forward into Annabeth’s arms.

“Jason, you have to believe me, we didn’t know who he was. He came here with no memory, gift wrapped with all sorts of knowledge and power. He earned your seat as consul. It was when we were giving him the tattoo that everything went wrong--he was--there seemed to be something wrong, too much pain--he started cursing in Greek, swearing and screaming and then he passed out and we were scared. A Greek spy--we made him consul, by the gods! We had to protect the camp--” Reyna was babbling and stuttering, trying to explain, but Jason’s face was inscrutable. He approached Percy, who remained conscious but silent with Annabeth’s arms circling his shoulders.

Annabeth protested when Jason reached down and wrenched Percy’s right arm up by the wrist, pushing back his sleeve so that the tattoo was bared. Jason brandished his own forearm, the tattoos matching except that Percy’s skin was an angry red around the tattoo, with a rash climbing up his arm from the SPQR.

“This is bad,” Piper said, filling the silence.

“Perseus.” Annabeth said, freeing Percy from Jason’s grip. “He’s Greek. He’s the head camper of the Greek demigods. _How dare you do this to him_.” She lurched to her feet, pulling the celestial bronze knife from her belt.

“The gods were right,” Annabeth proclaimed, practically spitting with anger. Percy still hadn’t moved, and her stomach was heavy with worry.

“We will never work with you.”


End file.
